My father the black belt
It all started on the ride to the store this morning. I hadn't felt well last night--hooray swollen glands and sore throat--and spent much of the night listening to the rain fall. Luckily I was doing better this morning, but it meant I stayed in bed later than normal. We didn't get going until probably 9:30.
All was hunky-dory until we reached the curve on Orchard Road, where it goes from east-west to north-south, and right around that point there were at least two dozen geese, half on one side, half on the other--with the other being the median. Dad slowed down because the ones on the median--directly to his left, as we were in the left lane--were *very* close to being in the road. I happened to keep an eye on the ones to the right, which were still on the side of the road but were starting to step into the street.
Once we got to the left turn lane and had to wait at the light, we watched in the rearview mirrors as the geese on the right made their way to the median. There weren't any cars coming immediately, so they took their time and wandered across the southbound lanes. And then, suddenly, here came a half-dozen cars. The front one in the left lane saw the geese in time and slowed to a stop--not something you really want to do on a road with a 50 MPH speed limit. The car in the right lane didn't get what was going on and nearly didn't stop. Like, it got so close I honestly thought it might have hit a goose. That's bad. They're protected. Eventually enough geese got across that the right lane could pass them, and then I think all the traffic was able to go.
Around that time the light changed, but the car in front of us didn't move, to the point that dad started honking. What, I said, they're probably doing what we're doing and watching the geese, because when has North Aurora had this kind of excitement? Dad then says something about stupid people, and being surrounded by them, and I went, hey, you have me in the car. To this he said, there are degrees of stupidity. I went, dad, you're a black belt.
He laughed, at least.
He then proceeded to do or say a few questionable things in the store, leading me to simply say, "Black belt." Yeah. My father is special. Mom may be the highest degree of this sort of black belt, but my father is no slouch at times.
...This does not bode well for me. I better stop practicing.
All was hunky-dory until we reached the curve on Orchard Road, where it goes from east-west to north-south, and right around that point there were at least two dozen geese, half on one side, half on the other--with the other being the median. Dad slowed down because the ones on the median--directly to his left, as we were in the left lane--were *very* close to being in the road. I happened to keep an eye on the ones to the right, which were still on the side of the road but were starting to step into the street.
Once we got to the left turn lane and had to wait at the light, we watched in the rearview mirrors as the geese on the right made their way to the median. There weren't any cars coming immediately, so they took their time and wandered across the southbound lanes. And then, suddenly, here came a half-dozen cars. The front one in the left lane saw the geese in time and slowed to a stop--not something you really want to do on a road with a 50 MPH speed limit. The car in the right lane didn't get what was going on and nearly didn't stop. Like, it got so close I honestly thought it might have hit a goose. That's bad. They're protected. Eventually enough geese got across that the right lane could pass them, and then I think all the traffic was able to go.
Around that time the light changed, but the car in front of us didn't move, to the point that dad started honking. What, I said, they're probably doing what we're doing and watching the geese, because when has North Aurora had this kind of excitement? Dad then says something about stupid people, and being surrounded by them, and I went, hey, you have me in the car. To this he said, there are degrees of stupidity. I went, dad, you're a black belt.
He laughed, at least.
He then proceeded to do or say a few questionable things in the store, leading me to simply say, "Black belt." Yeah. My father is special. Mom may be the highest degree of this sort of black belt, but my father is no slouch at times.
...This does not bode well for me. I better stop practicing.